


Gamzee: Quiet the voices.

by tempestuousCacaesthesia (mrmegido)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cannibalism, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-26
Updated: 2012-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:32:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrmegido/pseuds/tempestuousCacaesthesia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An older, sober Gamzee, currently residing on earth after a successful SGRUB session, goes out to grab a drink, but quickly finds himself dragging a man home after listening to the voices for once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gamzee: Quiet the voices.

    You had been walking around down town in the dark on your way to the liquor store when you spotted him, an incredibly obnoxious human male that looked to be about your age. He was obviously intoxicated, you could tell by the way he walked and how quickly women scurried away from him when he approached. You watched him for a moment, fascinated, before pulling the large hoodie you were wearing shut and taking a place a distance away from him in order to follow. He continues walking until you both end up near the bad part of town. The street lights were cracked and gave off a faint, yellowish glow. He pauses for a moment as you close in on him and before he can turn you sprint up behind him and slap your large hand over his mouth, muffling a scream. You inch your hand up slowly to cover his nose as well, your other arm snaking up to wrap around his neck. There is a brief struggle in which you overpower him completely. He is soon unconscious, alive but not awake. You let go, allowing him to drop to the ground with a soft ‘thump’. You grab a hold of his ankles and drag him out by the curb. When you make it by the road you pick him up and throw him over your shoulder. You walk down the dim streets and, for a moment, you think you won’t have to be explaining this to anyone. You clearly thought wrong as you see two figures approach you in the distance. Two human females chatter at each other for a moment before walking straight for you and asking you about the man over your shoulder. You panic before thinking of a quick excuse. 'He had a little too much to drink. I’m seeing him home.' They both glance at each other, then nod and smile. You watch them step around you and continue down the street for a long while. When they both seem to be out of sight you stride towards your hive once again, feeling a little more confident.

     Finally, after a few more minutes of walking through the silent night, you make it back to your hive. You fumble with the door knob, taking a few minutes to get it open. When you turn the knob for probably the eleventh time, you hear the faint click and push the door open. You take your ‘guest’ and lay him on the couch so you can shut and lock your doors and windows. By the time you come back he’s awake with clear signs of a drunken demeanor still about him. You pause, trying to decide whether or not to knock him out once again. The voices whisper, 'No.' You listen.

    You move forward quickly, reaching your hands out and grabbing his throat. He makes a small breathy squeak and you dig your claws into his flesh. Your pupils dilate to slits as the heavy, copper-like smell of blood fills the room. You let go quickly and watch him gasp for air. His drooping eyes look at you pleadingly. You keep a straight face and move on top of him. He makes a foolish remark. 'Whoa man, I don’t swing that way ai’ight?' You snarl in his face and sit up on his chest. Your hand tangles roughly in his hair and you smash your free fist into his broad, ugly face a few times. He whines.

    You reach down and tear his shirt open, pausing to decide where you will cut. You take your index finger’s claw and drag it straight down the middle of his torso, causing a shallow wound that runs down from the base of his neck to the hem of his pants. Another whine escapes him and you speak curtly, ‘Shut up.’ He sucks in a sharp breath and you notice him beginning to cry. He speaks in a quiet, high-pitched voice, the words running together. ‘Come on man please, please don’t do this. I don’t want to die please, oh god.’ You ignore him and draw the clawsickles from your jokerkind strife specubus. His eyes widen, glistening brilliantly. ‘Please.’ You reach over to his arm, lifting it up, and in one quick motion the limb is severed and hanging in front of your victims face. He goes into shock. He doesn’t speak anymore. All he does is make small, garbled noises and sob. You watch the thick, red liquid drip from the limb and onto his chest. You turn the arm over and lick over the bloodied end. He doesn’t watch. He turns and buries his face into the back of the couch. You could care less. You turn the arm so that you’re holding it sideways and bite near the severed end. Your sharp teeth sink into the tough, raw flesh and you rip a chunk from it. Oh how you missed the texture and taste. You bite at the arm hungrily, finishing off half of it. When you’re full, you lick your lips and toss your leftovers down onto the floor. You let out a content side and scoot down a little so that you’re sitting on his legs. You reach for the clawsickle and bring the tip up to the start of the first inflicted cut. You drag the sharp blade down and it slices through the flesh with ease. He screams. You laugh. You drag the blade down to the hem of his pants, cutting his stomach open. You pause for a moment, setting the clawsickle down, to admire your work. After afew minute you decide it’s time to end this. You dig your fingers into the large open wound and pull out part of his large intestine. You bring it up and lift his head off of the couch. He doesn’t look at you. He only continues to sob. You wrap the intestine around his neck and coo at him. With a soft ‘shh’, you tighten the intestine around his throat quickly.

    In a few moments, it’s over. You drag his corpse off of the couch and to your room. That should be enough red to last you for a long time. You decide you’ll debone the body later. For now, you stalk back out to the living room, grabbing the arm and remote on the way, and sit down on your couch. You turn the TV on and flip through the channels lazily, taking a bite out of the limb every so often. The voices were quiet and you were full and content.


End file.
